


In The Blood (I See You)

by CalamityK



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Badass Otabek Altin, Badass Yuri Plisetsky, Blood, Blood and Violence, Dead People, Eventual Smut, Literally this isn't going to be full of the "you gotta die for me trope", M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Russian Mafia, Slow Build, Violence, kind of, literally everyone is dangerous, mafia, no one important will die, not angst, somehow a relationship forms admist the violence, they're happy but fucked up ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:50:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityK/pseuds/CalamityK
Summary: Beautiful, is the first thought that comes to Otabek’s mind. Dangerous, is the next.The silk sheet spilling across the man’s chest is only comparable to the thin blood dripping from the mouth of the man lying at his feet. Red, if only just so, and alluring where it parts to reveal stark white skin. His stained hands are resting delicately on the arms of the ornate chair he sits in, like a king on a tainted throne, and his bare, thin legs are propped crudely on the body below him like a footrest. His whole demeanor oozes something akin to death.---------------Or that one Mafia!AU where everyone is a little bit dangerous, and constantly crossing-paths is a little bit more than coincidence for some.





	1. Beauty In The Blood

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYBODY. Trash King Supreme reigns again. I'm back, not better at anything, and I'm bringing you more WIP.
> 
> This is dedicated to my one, 'consistent and adoring' anon, who likes that I wrote something violent, and checks in occasionally to make sure I'm still thinking about it.
> 
> THIS WORK WILL NEVER BE BETA'D. All glaring mistakes and missteps are my own, if you see one, let me know. I'll do my best to correct it.  
> 
> 
> All chapters are more of Parts. This was written for Tumblr.com as part of my 'ask fic' requests originally. So it was written in separate parts that are more of short bursts. Chapters should lengthen as it goes along, since, you know, now I'm not only writing it for tumblr.
> 
> I'm trying to keep the plot cohesive, but since it's written in bursts that are so far apart, I may slip up. Once again, let me know, i'll fix and edit what I feel like.

Otabek carefully observes the man before him.   
  
A vision of deathly gold, alarmingly not-dressed, with a mane of pale hair wisp-ing past his shoulders, and the smirk of a devil caressing his lips.   
  
 _Beautiful_ , is the first thought that comes to Otabek’s mind.  _Dangerous_ , is the next.  
  
The silk sheet spilling across the man’s chest is only comparable to the thin blood dripping from the mouth of the man lying at his feet. Red, if only just so, and alluring where it parts to reveal stark white skin. His stained hands are resting delicately on the arms of the ornate chair he sits in, like a king on a tainted throne, and his bare, thin legs are propped crudely on the body below him like a footrest. His whole demeanor oozes something akin to death.

  
He meets Otabek’s observing gaze with stoic green eyes that hold no mercy,  _no remorse_.   
  
“I suspect you have some business here,” he says in a voice that’s heavy and Russian, much too deep for his delicate features, “and if not, you do now.”   
  
“Nikiforov sends his regards,” Otabek is careful not to waiver or shift his eyes as he answers. “And I’m his regards.”   
  
That earns a twitch of the smirk and a raised eyebrow from the blonde. “Victor is never displeased with me enough to kill me, and he fancies himself to be too high class to send a call boy, so, am I to assume you’re cleanup?”   
  
“Yes,” Otabek nods and gestures to the roll of plastic under his arm, then to the body between. The blonde tracks the movement like a cat tracks it’s prey. “Unless this is just an interesting choice in furniture.”   
  
The statement, and his unwavering calm, has its desired effect and the other’s amusement is evident. It’s a good sign Otabek’s job might go smoothly this time, unlike a few have before.   
  
“Do you have a name? Or should I just call you Victor’s Regards?”   
  
“Names are sensitive things, I suspect you know that.” Otabek replies, stepping closer and releasing the tension from his shoulders as he stretches his fingers inside his leather gloves, and prepares the plastic. “You can call me whatever you want.”   
  
“Hmm. That’s no good.” The blonde hums, lifting his feet from the body and shifting the sheet draped over his own. “Even this goon gave me a name, and he was trying to kill me in my sleep.” He laughs, a hollow sound, like faltering bells. “Though, the name wasn’t precisely his, and I suppose I did give him a bit of urging.”   
  
There’s a pause where he clicks his tongue then drops his voice, and Otabek can feel the predatory gaze grind over him once more, “I don’t think I’d mind urging  _you_ , albeit a bit differently.”   
  
Otabek pauses his cleanup at the insinuation, he absorbs it, but doesn’t rebuke it. The word  _beautiful_ edging across his thoughts again before he stamps it back down.

Instead, he focuses on the new information, letting the situation around him come into clearer focus. 

_A self defense kill, or rather a foiled assassination from the look of it._  
  
The bed sitting to the right of the room is rumpled, one post skewed slightly to the side and the headboard dented rather deeply; indications that quite the struggle occurred. The dead guy isn’t someone Otabek knows from the hitman lists he’s privy to, and there aren’t any identifying marks or association tattoos that he can see without stripping him. Otabek assumes he brought the gun that has been placed on the window table right beside where the blonde sits. There’s no signs it was even used.   
  
Otabek can’t visibly locate another weapon to explain the kill, but the holes in the dead guy’s torso added with the blood on the blonde’s hands– and several feet of the room–suggests he may not have needed one. It looks as though he tore into the man with his bare hands. Quite a feat, but not the most improbable kill Otabek has seen, though perhaps one of the more gruesome.   
  
“If it helps,” The blonde continues suddenly, jarring Otabek from his analysis, “you can call me  _Yura_.”   
  
Otabek stays silent, going back to the task at hand and allowing something else to click into place at the back of his mind.   
  
 _Yura_ is not a common name in the circles Otabek runs in, but that makes it a recognizable one:

  _Yura, Yurio, Yuratchka,_  all levels of diminutives for the same man, Yuri Plisetsky;  _The Ice Tiger_.  A title earned through a cold demeanor and a signature kill, and one Victor Nikiforov often uses fondly.

_So, it was with his bare hands then_ , Otabek thinks lightly as he finishes wrapping the body.   
  
The knowledge should make fear rise to his chest, or perhaps a bit of awe, but Otabek’s been doing this for far too long and he has far too many nasty tricks of his own. Instead, it brings a twisted smirk to his lips, and more than a few improper thoughts to his forebrain. Those of course, he’ll have to sort out later, perhaps after asking Victor a few pointed questions.

“ _Otabek_.” He says finally, securing the last corner of plastic over the body. “You may call me  _Otabek_.” 


	2. Blood In The Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri makes a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hum Ho Diddly Heeeeeeeee. Here we are. Not much to say. It's so Shooooooooooooooooort. :)

Yuri scrubs his hands off in the bathroom sink, soapy red hitting the porcelain base like a morose Jackson Pollock. He stares at it while he waits.  
  
It takes five solid rings before Victor’s voice chirps through the phone pressed between between his ear and shoulder.   
  
“I thought I told you to call me as soon as my man arrived, Yura. Am I to suspect something went awry?”   
  
“It’s barely been an hour, Victor.” Yuri snorts, shaking the last of the water from his fingers and turning the sink off. “And I wasn’t really in a position to call when he showed up.”   
  
“Yurio.” Victor tuts through the line. It sounds like an auditory representation of his unbearable personality. “If I’m being honest I’m surprised you called at all.”   
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” Yuri decides to play coy.  _Victor may be unbearable, but he isn’t stupid.  
_  
“You never do.” Victor says crisply, with just a bit too much coyness himself. “I can only assume you either have something urgent to tell me, or you want something and you’re going to try to get it without asking directly.”   
  
 _Definitely not stupid_ , Yuri thinks as he flicks the light off and finally grips the phone in his fingers.   
  
“Your man doesn’t know I was expecting him.” He chooses his words carefully,  _reluctantly_. “Next time, I don’t want to have to expect him.”   
  
“You want him assigned to you?” Victor accompanies his question with a light laugh. “I’m sorry, but Otabek is a free agent.”   
  
“ _Bullshit_. No one in this lifestyle is a free agent.”   
  
“I admire your outlook on life, truly, but he actually is.” The amusement is draining from Victor’s voice finally, and Yuri knows a deal is about to be brokered just by the way his tone hardens.  "But perhaps there is a way I could convince him to work for you. I would just require one–  
  
“Small favor.” Yuri cuts him off and finishes the statement for him.   
  
It’s too familiar at this point, so…  _redundant_. Victor always deals in ‘small favors’ that are never truly small. More  _complicated; messy_ , but never  _small._ He takes a moment to consider the worth of what he’s doing–  _the worth of being even further under Nikiforov’s thumb_ – and almost decides to hang up the phone.   
  
Fresh thoughts of smooth honey-tan skin, dark under-cut hair, and brown eyes that were able to hold Yuri’s own without the hint of fear or faltering, are the only things that stop him. Add all the leather Otabek had been sporting to the equation, and the image built is of a man Yuri finds too intriguing to let go of so easily.   
  
Even if Victor can’t help, plans are already forming. One way or another, Yuri will see Otabek again, if only to find out his secrets.  _No one with a gaze that steady is just a cleanup man._  
  
A sigh from Victor breaks Yuri out of his thoughts, and his mouth is moving before he can think any further.   
  
“Give me a name Victor, and I’ll lend you my claws.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B I T E M E


	3. A Game Of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so they meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another breif section. Plot is seeping in. Slowly. You'll get used to it. (the disappointment)

“You’re supposed to be long gone.” Otabek says, as he wraps the thin plastic around the body in front of him. It’s the third cleanup this week, killed the exact same way by the exact same person.

Yuri steps out from where he was barely concealed by shadows past the bed. “It took you long enough to notice my presence. I expected better.”

“I knew where you were from the moment I stepped in.” Otabek wants to snort; he almost does, but he doesn’t like to make derisive gestures on uneven terms. “I have a sense for being watched.”

“Does that apply everywhere, or only in bedrooms?” Yuri’s voice is light; teasing. A direct contrast from his appearance.

He’s dressed considerably better than the last time Otabek had seen him–  _in only a sheet_ –though the black silk shirt  he wears now hangs just as dangerously against his skin.

“Should I assume you’ve stayed for a reason?” Otabek asks lightly. One of his gloves is slipping and he tries to move his hand in a way that avoids the blood touching his skin.

Yuri moves a bit closer, observing openly now. “Should I assume you have better questions than that to ask me?”

_Ah_ , Otabek thinks,  _a game of cat and mouse then_. Too bad for Yuri that Otabek is more a wolf in disguise.

“I have plenty of questions.” Otabek states calmly, standing and lifting the now packaged dead guy. He’s considerably larger than what Otabek is used to dealing with, definitely hard to hoist over his shoulder. As the weight settles his mind chases the end of a wish.

He  _wishes_  he could have seen Yuri kill this one; is really curious about how a man so small can run through someone twice their height with nothing but their bare hands. Another part of him urges him to pray he never gets a demonstration, at least not one where he plays the tiger’s prey.

“Then ask.” Yuri flicks his bloody fingers to punctuate the words that roll from his tongue as nothing short of a command. “You should start by asking why you’re here and not somewhere else.”

Otabek can’t stop the smirk that pulls at one corner of his mouth.  _Clever kitten, but a bit over eager_. He’s aware Yuri has taken a special interest in him, and even if he weren’t, the other man does nothing to hide it and  _everything_ to bring it forward.

“Why would I start with one I already know the answer to? Besides,  _Yura_ ,” Otabek purrs the name like the warning it is, and glances at the grandfather clock sitting eerily against the opposite wall from the dead man’s bed. It reads half-one at night. “I believe we are running out of time.”

Yuri’s gaze breaks his, reluctance evident in the displeased pinch of his eyebrows as he check the clock himself.

When he looks back at Otabek his normal mask of disinterest is slipping back into place, wavering with a grin that’s more a baring of teeth.

“Next time then.” He hisses, and Otabek watches him retreat back into the shadows.

_Yeah_ , Otabek thinks, body feeling heavier as he makes his own exit,  _next time._


	4. Questions and Answers, Blood and Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri just wants information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE'S THAT PLOT. THERE IT IS.  
>   
> And that pesky cliffhanger. *blows you all a kiss* I've typed the word blood so many times while posting this that it is no longer a meaningful word.

Yuri cocks the pistols slowly as he aims it at JJ’s head.

The canadian prick is kneeling on the ground before him, blue eyes shining with glee, and a smile to match. It’s like he has no fear of the bullet Yuri just loaded right in front of him.

“Alright, Leroy.” Yuri keeps his voice level, no matter how badly he wants to spit in JJ’s face, it’s not what he came for. “Spill.”

JJ trades in dangerous secrets. Is an in and out type with a secret boss who is supposedly the most dangerous man in any of Russia’s current circles. A title Yuri wishes he held himself.

_I’m close_ , he thinks shifting the gun a bit closer to JJ,  _being the infamous Ice Tiger is almost just as good._

“Tsk, tsk, Kitten.” JJ teases like he’s in any position to mouth off. “I thought I told you last time, I can’t answer certain questions if you’re not willing to pay a heavy price.”

Yuri switches hands fluidly, just to show off, and brings the now free one under JJ’s chin. Having JJ look up at him like this has always been a personal joy, and if the man weren’t an annoying pig, Yuri would probably enjoy it in an entirely different context.

“Last time,” He says slowly, “I was stupid enough to ask about your boss. This time,” His finger tightens on the trigger, and JJ’s eyes waiver to the movement, “I need to know about someone else.”

“Now now,” JJ soothes, or tries to, “you have easier channels to go through than me to get info on a tough kill.”

“He’s not a kill.” Yuri states. He has no reason to play games, not while he has the advantage.

“ _Not a kill_.” JJ coos, “Has our kitten got a  _special someone_? Is this you checking up?”

Yuri flinches. He knows it’s not obvious to JJ, but it’s a flinch all the same and Yuri makes sure he covers it by leaning down and moving his hand to JJ’s throat.

“I’m the one asking questions, Leroy.” Yuri knows the feeling of his bare nails against flesh is the reason JJ’s own facade slips, and a sudden sheen of sweat finally breaks out beneath the barrel of the gun, so he jumps straight to the point. “What do you know about Otabek Altin?”

Yuri expects JJ to hesitate, to stall and bargain and  _name his price_. What Yuri doesn’t not expect is for JJ to stiffen further, neck flexing on a nervous swallow, and to blink rapidly before he recomposes himself enough to return Yuri’s gaze.

“Nothing.” JJ states. His voice has gone cold, usual teasing elements and sly tone diminished to hard statements. “At least not anything I can tell you.”

Yuri growls and grips JJ’s throat tighter.

“That tells me you have the  _exact_  information I want.” Yuri hisses, shifting the gun, bringing it in a slow slide down JJ’s cheek.  _A threat and a caress all in one motion_. “I’ve more than enough blood on my hands to prove I’m capable of paying the price this time.”

“There is no price. Not on this one.” JJ swallows again. “Braver men have tried, so take some advice, Kitten. Some things are better left alone.”

“You know me better than that.” Yuri spits, getting to his knees and bringing himself eye level. “I’m the _Ice Tiger_  now. Or have you forgotten why you so easily got on your knees for me?” He presses into JJ’s jugular with just his pinkie nail. “I don’t want this to get messy, but it very easily can.”

It’s not ideal. Bringing JJ down is a nice fantasy–a  _frequent_ fantasy. In reality, it’ll irritate a lot of people Yuri would rather not deal with.  _But still_ , Yuri thinks as he digs his other nails in just as hard, JJ isn’t giving him what he wants, and that makes it very tempting to just deal with the consequences.

“There really is nothing I can say.” JJ tries, jaw tensing and pink cheek pressing harder against the black of the gun. “You may be the  _Ice Tiger_ , but I’m more afraid of the  _Big Bad Wolf_ , as they say.”

“Oh come on you fucking bastard!” Yuri growls again. He’s back on his feet in one motion hauling JJ up with him. Finger ever tighter on the damn trigger. “You won’t be afraid of anyone if you let me kill you right here.”

He lets go of JJ’s throat; only so he can put both hands on the gun, and seats the muzzle right between JJ’s crystal grey eyes. There’s thinly masked fear behind them now, and it sends a burning coil of pleasure right to Yuri’s gut.  _He’s going to enjoy this, consequences be damned_.

“I know he can be an ass,  _Yura_ , but I’d prefer you don’t shoot him.” A voice–  _an oh-so-freshly-familiar voice_ – interrupts Yuri’s trigger squeeze right at the perfect moment, and draws his attention to the doorway. “I don’t like cleaning up parts of my own men.”

Yuri expects a gun to be pointed back at him now, maybe multiple, but JJ’s savior aims nothing but a smile.

Leaning against the wall calmly, arms crossed–and eyes locked on Yuri in a way that doesn’t suit the situation– is the last person Yuri expects to see.

_Otabek_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where you comment, and yell at me to make Part 5 exist a little faster.


	5. Bloodless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is dedicated to those who begged and pleaded and never gave up on wanting this tiny scrap of a fic.
> 
> Honestly I'm ~uninspired~ so forgive me if it's utter shite.
> 
> Not beta-ed and written at 4am as per my usual, but do any of you expect more from the king of trash.

It’s not the ideal way Otabek wants to reveal himself.

He doesn’t spend all his time in the shadows and behind a cover just to up and spill vital information about what he  _ really _ is.

But Yuri Plisetsky is a force to be reckoned with. 

He’s been tracking the blond since their last mutual engagement, and he only figured out the Tiger was heading for the Den of Wolves after he’d already walked right in.  _ Clever _ , Otabek thinks,  _ and oh so dangerous _ .

The grating scrape of a fingernail across the top of his desk draws him out of his thoughts. 

Yuri is sat casually upon the edge, gun lying unceremoniously beside him, and that unnerving jade gaze drilling into Otabek. The shirt he wears today is white, and Otabek can’t stop himself from picturing it covered in blood.  

“Are you going to give me the information I came for?” Yuri’s voice is languid, unhurried; definitely lacking the malice it held earlier when Otabek found him with his hands around JJ’s throat. “Or do you mean to stare at me for a while longer?”

Otabek smirks. “I’m perfectly capable of doing  _ both _ .” 

“You’re capable of  _ a lot of things _ it seems.” Yuri leans over as he says it, scraping his nail closer to where Otabek sits behind the desk.

“So are you.” Otabek counters, sliding his own hand out and stopping the progress of Yuri’s  _ claw. _ It’s the first time they’ve ever come into this kind of contact, and he feels Yuri’s microscopic flinch-- _ a stilling of protective reflex _ \--as the hand is bent back so Otabek can fit his thumb against the palm. “Like killing someone with nothing more than your bare hand.” 

“Yes,” the corner of Yuri’s mouth tilts in what could be interpreted as either a smirk  _ or  _ a snarl, as he pulls his hand away,  “but I already know what  _ I’m _ capable of. I think it’s time I’m given the same chance to assess  _ you _ the way you’ve apparently assessed  _ me _ .” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “That is what you do isn’t it?  _ Assess. _ ”

And Otabek is impressed all over again, barely ten minutes in his office and  _ The Ice Tiger  _ already has him pegged. “Wouldn’t it be better to ask  _ what _ I assess, and  _ why _ ?”

Yuri’s smirk forms for certain. “I have time.  _ We _ , have time, rather. Neither one of us will be leaving this room until I have  _ all _ of my answers.”

The threat burns something in Otabek’s gut that has nothing to do with fear. 

“ _ Cute. _ ” he says lightly. “But threats aren’t necessary,  _ Yura _ . I’ll give you what you want.” 

Yuri cocks one eyebrow, but motions for Otabek to get on with it. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Otabek begins, “I never intended to cross paths with you, but once I determined you and Nikiforov were directly connected I couldn’t resist...and after I saw you that first time, I decided I wanted to see more first hand.” 

“Hn. Hence becoming my clean-up.” Yuri hums, picking up his gun and twirling it in one hand. A subtle show that he’s still without fear.  _ Still in power.  _ “Doesn’t explain why you were eyeing Victor in the first place though.” 

_ So observant, so smart.  _ Yuri is so much more distracting when there’s not a dead body and a roll of plastic between them, but Otabek curbs the thought.

“Nikiforov was dealing with a known Yakuza.” He explains thinly. “I make it my business to make sure  _ other people’s business _ isn’t going to rain hell down on my head, or the heads of anyone in my circle.” He gives Yuri a moment to absorb the information. A light of amused recognition sparking on the blond’s features signals that he’s probably placed  _ who _ the Yakuza in question is, so Otabek continues. “I think we both know I discovered less about Victor’s seedy trading and more about his love life than I care to know. His business dealings are as clean-cut and Russian as they can be.” 

Yuri’s face changes again, his whole demeanor really, reflecting that level look Otabek remembers from their first encounter; a look he can’t quite place.

“This is all very amusing.” Yuri’s tone is flat, the gun still in his hand. “But still a lot less than I would expect from  _ the most dangerous man in Russia _ .” 

There’s the barest hint of venom behind the last statement, but Otabek shrugs it off, doing his best to remain unaffected. “I didn’t give myself that title. Perhaps you shouldn’t give it so much stock.”

“Hn.” Yuri hums again, turning his body and coming further over the desk. In one slick movement they’re nose to nose, and Otabek feels the barrel of the gun cold-pressed against his temple. “Perhaps, we should strike a bond.” 

Otabek doesn’t flinch, but the burning in his gut gets stronger, and he can’t resist the urge to lean up; putting their lips in a position  _ so close _ to a kiss,  _ so intimate _ , that when he speaks he can feel the barest brush of skin. 

“ _ Perhaps _ .” He breathes. “Though the offer seems rather sudden.” 

Neither pulls back, and Otabek almost surges further forward.  _ Almost _ . It’s a challenge of self-restraint.

“Not really.” Yuri soothes, moving the gun down Otabek’s jaw and then removing it completely. He replaces it with his free hand; cupping Otabek’s chin and turning his head to the side.“I’ve known what I wanted since the moment I laid eyes on you, Altin.”  

Otabek wants to turn back, but Yuri’s voice continues against the shell of his ear. 

“And I always get what I want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell about updates in my tumblr inbox: [@Kingotabek](https://kingotabek.tumblr.com/faq)
> 
> No really. I'm not being sarcastic. Ya'll's yelling is the only reason I wrote more of this. I need the feedback to remain upright.


	6. Blood Running Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets, secrets, plans and plans. What is Yuri hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhh. hello. again.  
> Im back with more un-beta'd trash.
> 
> I felt like writing this all of a sudden, and somehow went and gave it even MORE plot. Will it ever end? Will they ever bang? (Hint: Yes, but not in this update) sigh.

_ The Den of Wolves,  _ Yuri thinks, is only too fitting a name for Otabek’s operation. 

He’s had time to observe, in the past weeks since he first stepped into the Den, and he’s discovered that every man under Otabek acts as though they’re part of a cohesive unit.  _ A pack, and Otabek an alpha _ . It’s not too different from most heads and factions Yuri has come across, but the  _ loyalty, _ the way Otabek’s men yield and relent with no resistance in their eyes is what Yuri finds so unusual. 

Otabek’s men aren’t  _ bought _ . They aren’t traded for secrets and information. From what he’s learned, and what Otabek and the men have all told him, they come here of their own accord or they’re  _ rescued _ . Literally stolen and saved from factions and bosses that would have meant their end.

Yuri thinks its a bit righteous for a mafia set-up, but now he understands what makes Otabek so dangerous.  _ He’s kind _ . And a kind man who is still willing to take a life is worth more salt than an entire pack of the cruelest. 

It’s something Yuri finds appealing for his own selfish reasons. Reasons he hopes won’t come to light before he has Otabek firmly in his corner.

The entrance of the man himself pulls Yuri from his thoughts. 

He barely spares Yuri a glance as he steps into the room, pulling his leather gloves off and tossing him on his desk, but Yuri can see the smirk playing against the edge of his lips. 

“ _ Yura _ .” He drawls. “I thought we established a rule about showing up unannounced.”

Yuri adopts a smirk of his own. “ _ The rule _ , is void if I have something important to tell you.” 

“Then you’ve had something important to tell me almost everyday this week.” Otabek counters, but the smirk turns into a much more serious frown as his gaze meets Yuri’s. “I’ve just come back from a meeting with Nikiforov.” 

Yuri keeps his hands clasped together in his lap where Otabek can’t see the lines of tension on his knuckles. “Then perhaps  _ you _ have something important to tell  _ me _ .” 

A silence rattles between them, a moment of tense, charged breathing, where neither one wants to be the next to speak. Then Otabek sighs. 

“Victor says you completed quite a few  _ favors _ in exchange for his help in getting me on your cleanup detail.” There’s a hint of bitterness in Otabek’s voice that Yuri is still unfamiliar with. “He formally releases you from any lingering  _ obligations _ , but asked me to remind you that some debts run deeper than favors.” 

“How kind of him.” Yuri almost snarls. It’s a reminder that Victor, for all his good qualities, still values Yuri as a tool at his disposal.  _ Is only granting Yuri a limited freedom _ .

“Care to explain?” 

“Which part?” Yuri deflects. Otabek raises an eyebrow, and gives Yuri a look that says plainly ‘you know which part.’ Yuri just clenches his teeth. “You wrapped enough bodies in plastic for me, I’m sure the  _ favors _ are no mystery to you by now.” 

“I was aware of the favors, even then.” Otabek comes forward, leaning over the desk closer to where Yuri sits in his chair, and Yuri leans up on instinct. After a few seconds of their breath mingling Otabek continues. “I want to know what Victor Nikiforov has on you that I can’t find out, that my men can’t find out, no matter how much we assess the situation.”

Yuri hesitates. He knows Otabek has been digging into every aspect of his life, every connection, from the moment they laid eyes on each other. But having someone find out stuff about you, and telling them your secrets at will, are two very different things. Even knowing Otabek won’t use this against him isn’t enough to make Yuri into an open book. He’s lived this lifestyle too long, and has too many threats against him. 

His instincts are telling him to deflect and run while he still can, but he swallows and stays seated instead; breath still heated with Otabek’s proximity. 

“It’s less something he ‘has against me’ and more something that I owe  _ to _ him.” Yuri tries quietly, not giving too much away, but knowing it won’t work. “It's not really important.” 

Otabek leans in further, and Yuri’s heart stutters, but then Otabek stops himself, pulling back with a look that feels as though it sears Yuri’s flesh. 

“If this is going to work,  _ Yura _ , if we’re going to do this,” Otabek says, bringing one hand up to caress Yuri’s jaw, only to let it fall immediately to a light grasp around Yuri’s throat, “I need to know anything that might be a threat in the future. To  _ you _ . To  _ me _ . To the operation as a whole.” His fingers tighten just enough that Yuri shudders, not with fear, but with something deeper, as Otabek continues in a lower voice. “So tell me, Ice Tiger,  _ what _ do you owe him?”

He’s sure Otabek can feel the beat of his rabbiting pulse beneath his steady fingertips, and he knows that once the words pass his lips the debt will become a real thing once more-- will become something more tangible than its been over the years that he and Nikiforov have simply ignored it.

But Otabek prompts again, softly this time, “Tell me what you owe him, Yura.  _ Please _ .” 

Something inside Yuri twists at the plea, and he can’t hide the tremble in his voice as he finally replies;

“ _ My life _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know where to find me. Remember to yell if you want more. I enjoy feedback.

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know where to find me by now....well then where have you been?
> 
> [Kingotabek](http://kingotabek.tumblr.com/) feel free to yell.


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